


Please don't stop (the music)

by Trojie



Series: Trojie's Pornathon Entries 2012 [7]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Clubbing, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Roleplay, not really infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Written for the Merlin Summerpornathon's seventh 2012 challenge - non-penetrative sex.</i>
</p>
<p>It's paint-night at Merlin's favourite bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please don't stop (the music)

It's paint-night at Merlin's favourite bar. He passes through the crowd, settling into the dancefloor like coming home, the crush of bodies welcoming him in. It's been too long since he came here. He's been craving it.

And then, sure as shit, same as he remembers, comes the warm, hard arm around his waist, the tiny curled tip of a tail on a dragon tattoo snaking around its elbow, and Merlin leans back into the wall of muscle behind him, grinds his arse back too, already halfway to lost. 

'Minx,' growls the voice in his ear that Merlin never names despite the aching familiarity of it, because that's against the rules. 'God alone knows where you've been. I ought to leave you here.'

'Don't even think about it,' Merlin mutters, and if there hadn't been an amused huff of breath at his ear - _unnnh_ , fuck - he would have bet there was no way the man behind him could have heard it. The bass is thrumming in Merlin's lungs, and in pushing through into the centre of the crush he's been smeared with pink and orange and God-knows what other colours, and now the hand on his stomach drags its way through the paint and comes up to grab him by the chin and push.

'Want me to stay then?' The other hand comes up to rest on his breastbone, wrist brushing Merlin's nipple through his thin shirt. Merlin pretty much melts into the cradle of the body behind him, knees to knees, shoulders to shoulders, back to belly, arse to … well. His head lolls back on a very broad shoulder and his body won't stop moving, shaking to the beat in the air.

'Yes,' he says, too loud, in a break in the music before the beat drops on them from the sky. 'Fuck.'

There's a smile in the voice of the man behind him. 'Not here. Don't need to, anyway, do we?' and a hand slides over the front of Merlin's jeans. 

They sway and pop and the mass of people around them throw paint and whoop and holler and push against them like the tide and it doesn't matter, because nothing could throw their rhythm when Merlin's arse is grinding against a thick erection and he's trying not to jerk too hard into the too-hot grip of the hand outside his trousers. 'You don't need to be fucked,' the voice growls in his ear. 'You just need to be _touched_. You just need everyone sweating around you.'

The stupid thing is it's true, and Merlin is already on the edge, shaking with bass and desperation. 'Come on,' he mutters, and his facade slips. 'Need _you_ , just you, only ever you, please, _please_ -' It's against the rules, but Merlin doesn't care. He's flying now, carried on the rhythm of sex and music.

There's a tight, hot, _broken_ moan in his ear, and the man behind him shoves harder up against the crease of Merlin's arse in his stupid, tight jeans, and the hand on his cock tightens, pulls harder, faster. In the high, singing moment between one song and the next, there are teeth against Merlin's neck, just under his hairline, and he comes in his jeans, like a teenager, twitching and oversensitised and panting. 

And then suddenly Merlin's alone, unsupported, in the seething mass of uncaring, paint-smeared people on the dancefloor, jeans chafing him and breathing still ragged and out of control. 

***

He drags himself home at 3am, washes the smudged eyeliner and violently pink paint off his face, tries to dust as much glitter out of his hair as possible, and sneaks into bed.

Arthur rolls over, makes a contented noise, and spoons up against him, wraps his dragon-tattooed arm back around Merlin's waist. 

Merlin's drifting off to sleep when Arthur murmurs, deep and rough, 'Did you have a nice night?' and leans in close enough to bury his nose in Merlin's hair, his mouth slack and hot against the bitemark that pulses there, and Merlin's dick twitches. 

'Always,' he whispers. 'I love you.'


End file.
